


Be Careful What You Post on the Internet

by itshysterekal



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Work Contains Fan(s) or Fandom(s), exaggerated fan culture, steve does avengers fan art, the avengers antagonize each other with fan works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 18:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18474733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itshysterekal/pseuds/itshysterekal
Summary: Bucky just wants to get on to the next mission, but the therapist he's forced to see insists he take up a hobby. Cue his writing of highly explicit Avengers RPF to make fun of Stark and his headlong dive into social media. He never expected a hobby to change his life.





	Be Careful What You Post on the Internet

**Author's Note:**

> So many thanks to the wonderful ladivvinatravestia for a speedy and helpful beta. This story is much better thanks to her, and any remaining shortcomings are my own.
> 
> Based on a fantastic prompt (in the end note) by QueenOfTheRandomWord42.

“I don’t know, I think it’s pretty good,” Sam insisted with a barely contained laugh. 

After several minutes of bickering about something on one of Stark’s screens, Bucky finally looked up to see what it was all about. There was a drawing of Stark in his Iron Man costume, only it was lacey and not made of metal. “Tactical disaster,” he muttered. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Romanov remarked wryly. “Depends on the tactics.” 

“Exactly,” Stark finally piped up. “I’m obviously trying to seduce the enemy and I’d be so good-” 

He stopped speaking as he realized Romanov hadn’t stopped and had continued under his words, “For example, you could blind them all and then we’d just have to be very, very quiet.” 

Bucky stared blankly at them all, glad they were ignoring him. He understood they were teasing Stark and that it was funny, but he was eager to get on to the next mission. He leaned forward from where he was sitting on the couch and began to take apart and clean his guns. 

“Barnes, did you just do that?” Stark demanded. 

“Doing it again,” he muttered, to absolutely no one’s surprise. Stark rolled his eyes, leaving the _You’re the worst_ implied rather than spoken. 

Wilson put up another drawing, presumably from the internet, this time featuring himself in flight. The sun shone behind him, making him look like some kind of avenging angel. “Discuss this masterpiece amongst yourselves,” he ordered and headed toward Bucky. Suddenly, Bucky regretted the decision to take the guns apart because now he couldn’t make a clean getaway unless he abandoned them- which he had no intent to do unless this encounter became life threatening. 

Wilson sat down next to Bucky as if they didn’t both know the casual manner in which he did was a complete and total lie. “What,” Bucky stated without an actual question in it. 

“Just thought maybe, for once, you might like to have a little fun with the rest of the team?” 

Bucky gave him a sideways glare that Wilson could have anticipated without wasting Bucky’s time forcing him to make the actual face. He returned to cleaning. 

“You see the doctor I told you about?” Wilson pressed. 

“Appointment tomorrow morning. Waste of time.” 

Wilson sighed and leaned his elbows onto his knees, trying to make eye contact with the soldier. “It’s not a waste of time. Plenty of us see therapists, even without being the fist of HYDRA for, like, a million years, man.” 

Bucky didn’t give in to the unspoken request for eye contact in favor of putting his gun back together. “I’m doing fine. I don’t need a doctor.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m not the only one who’d like to see you do more than fine, alright? I get that, for a long time, you were just a thing to them. You’re not a thing to us, okay? You’re a person, and it’s kinda creepy as hell that you never smile. Even that picture of Tony, all you were thinking was tactics.” 

“Why would Stark dress like some kinda-?” Bucky asked in frustration. “Looked like he shoulda been in a burlesque. An ugly one.” 

Wilson did that small convulsion thing he did when he was trying not to laugh. “That was fan art, man. People on the internet, Avengers fans, they make drawings and I found some to antagonize Tony with. It’s just goofing off. You should really join us.” 

There was an illustration of Romanov up now, and they were all debating something about her hips and whether or not their being less round meant the artist was blind or gay. “Come on, just spend some time with us. It’s okay if you don’t laugh. You don’t even have to say anything. Just practice being a person again, okay?” 

“And then I can go?” Bucky bargained. 

“Yeah,” Wilson agreed, though he sounded disappointed. “Then you can go.” 

“Hey, Barnes is joining us!” Stark was the first to notice, and naturally had to announce. “See if there’s one of Barnes!” 

Stark was already clicking and typing. Before Wilson could finish saying, “No, let’s stick to-” there was an image up that made Bucky’s insides turn to lead. Everyone went quiet at the sight of a fully, properly-armored Iron Man standing, palm smoking, over a dead Winter Soldier. A speech bubble was pointing to the red helmet with the words _That was for my parents,_ scrawled in a sharp, angry hand. 

“All practiced out,” Bucky said, his voice even and emotionless. He knew most people thought he was still a HYDRA operative. He even knew he’d killed Stark’s parents, even if he couldn’t remember it. It was still difficult to be faced with the cold truth that fans of the Avengers couldn’t accept him as part of the team. Regardless, Bucky didn’t care about popularity contests. Romanov called it _red in the ledger_ , but Bucky just called it saving as many people as he could cram into a day in hopes that maybe he’d stop feeling less guilty some day. 

There were several protests as he turned to get his rifle and leave, and Bucky couldn’t help but note the lack of Stark’s voice among them. 

~*~ 

The therapist the next morning was even worse. Dr. Garzer had a stiffness to her that reeked of someone who was afraid and projecting calm. The result was always this overly formal, tense posture that made the hair on the back of Bucky’s neck stand on end. She kept asking him about his past and his parents and whether or not he felt guilt about the killing he’d done as the Asset. 

“For the last time, I had no control over my actions. I have no memory of my actions. Why would I feel guilt over that?” he demanded. “Wilson said this was supposed to help me, but it’s clear you simply want to put me on trial again.” 

She was silent for a moment as she processed what he’d said to her. “I’m not trying to put you on trial, Sergeant Barnes. I am trying to help you. First, I need to know where you are in terms of coping.” 

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. 

“Sleeping alright?” 

“I get enough.” 

Her face was impassive and for the first time, Bucky wasn’t sure what she was feeling. “What do you do when not on mission?” 

“Get ready for the next mission. Train, equipment maintenance, research.” 

“What do you research?” she asked. 

“Guns. Training methods. HYDRA.” 

She pursed her lips. “Okay. Well, I think we’ve accomplished enough today. I’m giving you an assignment.” 

Bucky wasn’t sure what they had accomplished beyond wasting both of their time, but he wasn’t about to argue. He was only worried about what kind of assignment she was going to give him. In his (extremely limited, sure) experience, head doctors gave the worst ones. 

“Do something that isn’t related to any mission, and doesn’t help prepare for it,” she said instead and he bristled with a rising argument. “Make it something you enjoy, if you can. Some people paint or listen to music or like taking aimless walks in the park. And this isn’t optional. I don’t normally like issuing ultimatums, but in your case I think I need to. Sergeant Barnes, I do have the medical authority to remove you from the field if I think it’s a detriment to your wellbeing. Right now, this pinpoint focus you have on missions: I think that is directly harmful to you and your recovery. I need you to put effort into this assignment I’m giving you. You don’t have to succeed, but I do want to hear about what you did to try to accomplish it.” 

Bucky stared at her unhappily. “So my assignment… is to not have an assignment.” 

She actually smiled a little and he wanted to rip the arm off his stupid plastic chair. “Essentially, yes. Spend some time doing something besides thinking about the next task. Try to have fun, Sergeant Barnes.” 

His farewell to her was a noncommittal grunt, and he wore the facial equivalent of it as he stalked toward the gym. Except, no, he wasn’t allowed to do that. He had to _have fun_ in a way that couldn’t contribute to mission readiness. He could go back to his room, but Bucky didn’t want to sit still, and the only thing to do in his room was research. He headed toward the communal living area. Maybe there was… a book. Or something. He was glaring daggers by the time he finally arrived. 

Unfortunately, almost the entire team was there as well. Banner was giving them all exasperated looks. Barton was perched on the arm of the couch looking amused. Wilson was hunched into himself on the far side of the same piece of furniture with Romanov’s hand on his shoulder as though he needed strength or reassurance. This made sense as Stark was holding a tablet like a minister might hold a Bible to read from as he preached something about a battle against a giant blob monster. Stark seemed to be doing very well, while Wilson kept losing flight races and eventually wound up covered in goo. 

“ _’Tony, you gotta teach me how to keep my nose clean,’ Sam said, his eyes worshipping Iron Man from where he lay on the ground, dripping with ooze. ‘Pun intended.’ Tony groaned and rolled his eyes before insisting, ‘First we have to get you some better lines.’ Sam grinned as Tony opened his mask and smiled down at him so he knew he didn’t mean it. ‘Maybe we could start tonight?’ Sam replied flirtatiously-_ Wait, what?” Stark spluttered. He began scrolling, and Bucky could see his plan to embarrass Wilson had backfired. “Uh… and Sam lived the rest of his days in unrequited love with Tony! The end!” 

“Wait, let me see that,” Barton demanded and soon the whole scene devolved into a game of get-the-tablet from-Stark. Bucky calmly watched, still unnoticed. See, Garzer? Never attending non-mission gatherings gave him an advantage. No one expected him to be there. Romanov noticed him first and sprouted a wicked grin when she saw him eyeing Stark. She drove him toward the door, and Stark didn’t even bother to look as he backed toward Bucky. The moron was even holding it up and over his shoulder to keep it further from those herding him backward. 

With a casual move, Bucky plucked it from Stark’s hand and turned his eyes toward the screen. He wasn’t as expressive as Stark had been, but they all laughed hysterically when he read aloud, “ _Sam revealed his hot, throbbing member nervously. ‘It’s not too big, is it?’ he asked. Tony shook his head, practically drooling. ‘I can’t wait to get my mouth on that.’_ What is this?” 

Bucky’s confusion only seemed to make them laugh harder- except, of course, for Stark. Wilson, however, seemed doubly amused. Bucky wondered why Stark seemed cowed and Wilson the exact opposite when the story featured both of them in compromising and unrealistic positions. “I don’t…” Bucky continued to fish for an explanation. “Is this a biography or something?” 

They all laughed harder and suddenly Bucky realized they were no longer laughing at Stark. He scowled and shoved the tablet into Stark’s chest. Why did he bother trying? They all spoke as though they wanted him to participate in non-mission time with them, but they seemed to simply want to laugh at him. Well, Bucky was no one’s entertainment and he wasn’t going back to that therapist. 

“Barnes, wait. Hang on-” Wilson was saying and Bucky accidentally took a swing at him as he grabbed the soldier’s flesh right arm. Shock registered on both their faces, but Bucky quickly covered his with his trademark scowl. “It’s fan fiction. The Avengers have fans who, for some reason, like to express their love of us by drawing Tony in lacy panties and writing stories about us bumping uglies.” 

“Bumping-?” 

“It’s a euphemism.” 

“I know what it means,” Bucky grumbled. “It’s crass.” 

Stark finally laughed at something. “Grandpa Barnes has had enough of your funny business, Wilson.” 

Bucky glared at him and the amusement fell off his face. “If you’re all done laughing at me, I have things to do.” 

It was Stark who had the poor judgment to sling an arm around Bucky’s shoulder as he walked out. “Look, Barnes, I’m not a fan of the touchy-feely mushy feelings thing, but you’re part of the team. It’s okay if you aren’t best friends with everyone, but we’re trying to be friendly. We laugh at each other. It’s what we do. You think I enjoyed that piece you read aloud? They were absolutely laughing at me over it.” 

“So you make fun of each other as a pastime,” Bucky stated dubiously. 

“Yeah. It’s…” 

“Bullying,” Bucky supplied for him. 

“No, not- Jesus, Barnes. You fight like a damn demon, but it’s like you know nothing about people. It’s friendly laughing at. When you’re friends, you can laugh at each other because you know they don’t mean it in a mean way. Good god, why am I the one giving you this talk. Where’s Wilson? Wilson, if the Soldier here has any more questions, it’s all about feelings and I can’t do anymore.” He squeezed Bucky’s shoulder and left him in the doorway. “Sorry, Gramps. That’s pretty much my quota for the year. Got to get back to cocktails and narcissism!” 

“Right,” Bucky murmured. Stark was a bit of a mystery, but it seemed like he was trying. If Stark was to be believed, they were trying to be friends with Bucky by making fun of him. Contrary to Stark’s own assumption, Bucky knew what it was like to have friends and tease each other. It just usually went both ways. And both parties were laughing. He wasn’t sure if he believed Stark’s teasing was an effort to be his friend, but there was one way to put it to the test: make fun of Stark. This would ensure that, if it was a trap to laugh at and further alienate Bucky he was retaliating. If it was true what Stark was saying, then he would still be getting it right. Wilson gave him a questioning look and Bucky’s mouth twisted into a smirk. Wilson struggled to make up his mind whether this was progress or something more disturbing as Bucky disappeared from the common area. 

He immediately retreated to his own quarters and pulled out the small laptop he had been given by Stark upon moving into the tower. It had been priceless to watch Stark’s face as he tried to help Bucky set it up only to discover that Bucky could type almost two hundred words per minute and needed precisely zero help in simple technological tasks. He might not remember much of anything from his time as the Asset, but he remembered every last one of the skills. That included hacking and laughably basic computer knowledge. 

The first thing Bucky needed to do was research writing. The internet had a lot of varying advice and tips, but most seemed to agree that reading was the best way to learn how to write well. So Bucky went in search of this “fan fiction” that had so embarrassed their unofficial leader and dove deep. By the time he could no longer ignore his biological needs, it was nearly morning and he had read far more stories about Tony having sex (mostly with men) than had probably ever happened in reality. Bucky knew Stark was promiscuous, so he felt this was a significant reading achievement. He was also very glad he was one of the few people who did not picture things when he read. His grasp on the literary mechanics of what was frequently “tagged” as _smut_ felt firm and secure. 

After using the toilet and making one of his special super soldier protein shakes, he was ready to utilize this knowledge to craft a story of his own. First, he had to decide who Stark should be having sex with. That was easy. The most common “pairing” involved Stark and Banner. Their mutual love of non-combat knowledge had earned them the label “science husbands,” a label which Bucky was most certainly going to use. It wouldn’t do to simply write this story to antagonize Stark into being his friend. The story had to be read. Widely. He craved the kudos so many authors encouraged him to leave when he read. They would be a good measure of mission success. Or of non-mission success. He had to remember not to call it a mission if he was forced back to Dr. Garzer. 

Unfortunately, he had barely typed a sentence about Banner being in his lab before the alarms were going off. There was some kind of crisis, so the science husbands would have to wait before defiling their workspace in Bucky’s fictitious scenario. 

Bucky geared up quickly and efficiently. Banner was the only one to beat him to the plane because he didn’t usually require gear. 

“Is there something on my face?” Banner asked as though genuinely concerned about it. 

“What?” Bucky asked. 

“What?” Banner echoed. 

It occurred to him that he’d been squinting at the scientist. It wasn’t that Bucky wanted to imagine him naked. It was that he’d spent half the night reading about it and somehow it had made the man slightly less real in his mind. Was this normal? “Your face is fine,” he confirmed. Banner still seemed perturbed, but he sank into his seat and seemed willing to keep it to himself now. Good. Bucky wanted to know what the mission was. 

He settled into his own spot and belted himself in as the others arrived. The computer began to brief them as the door shut behind Wilson, who always seemed to take the longest to get ready. Bucky filed this observation away for potential story fodder later. “The terrorist known as Crossbones has been sighted in Lagos. It is unclear if he is planning an attack, but he is on the list of high profile targets to be brought in whenever possible. I have taken the liberty of mapping the best surveillance points.” A map glowed to life like a table in the middle of the plane, a tactical feast with three individuals strapped into their chairs on either side of it. There were two spots on top of buildings. The computer confirmed that he and Wilson would be taking those. Bucky was already mentally mapping lines of fire for his rifle. Romanov and Maximoff would be on the ground level. Stark would be wherever the hell Stark felt like being, presumably, and Banner would remain in the jet until his particular talents were needed. 

Bucky was fine with this plan. He hoped he got to shoot their fugitive. This one had a file that aspired to surpass Bucky’s own, and he wouldn’t mind being given a reason to take out a kneecap. Or more. He couldn’t imagine committing the kind of brutality Crossbones had of his own free will. 

The jet dropped him off first. As the team’s sniper, he had actual equipment to set up. Stark disembarked with him, and Bucky ignored him in favor of finding the best vantage point for the street the computer had tagged as the most likely place their target would show his face. 

Maximoff was young and, while she had been with the team longer than Bucky, her combat readiness was still in question. They were all talking her through various observations and what they meant on the street, quizzing her like this was a lesson and not a mission. He ignored them in favor of scouring the faces on the street and the passing vehicles through his scope. They didn’t know what Crossbones himself looked like under the mask, but he had known associates whose mugs Bucky had committed to memory. 

There was one face, however, that he was wholly unprepared to see. “Garbage truck,” he barely managed. Rollins had never been one of his primary handlers, but he’d been one long enough that seeing him through the windshield of a passing vehicle had been enough to send Bucky back to that place of powerlessness, of watching his own body act without his consent. The victims themselves were never clear, but the distinct feeling of _no, stop, this isn’t right, I don’t want to do this,_ was sharp and painful. 

“Are you sure, Gramps?” Stark asked behind him. “That’s not one of our-” 

“I recognize him,” Bucky replied, his voice hard. “Garbage truck.” 

There was no further argument and the sound of repulsors indicated the other man’s departure. Bucky trained his rifle on the truck’s tires. One of Wilson’s gadgets zoomed into his sights and attached itself to the undercarriage of the vehicle. “Driver’s armed,” he confirmed, “and this thing is loaded to capacity.” 

“It’s a battering ram,” Romanov confirmed. 

Bucky slipped his finger onto the trigger and then removed it just as quickly as a ball flew past. “Romanov, get those kids out of the street. I can’t get a shot.” 

Instead, Maximoff approached them. She was smiling and the truck was getting close to a turn. “Now, dammit!” Barnes growled. Maximoff’s eyes flicked up and it seemed almost like she was looking directly at him even though she couldn’t possibly know exactly where his scope was from this distance. Then again, she seemed extremely powerful in the way that would have driven HYDRA up the wall with jealousy, so maybe she could. She turned back to the kids just as the damn truck turned down a side street. Without hesitation, Bucky engaged the safety and slung the rifle over his back before taking off. His joints protested as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop and refused to roll into the impact lest it damage the weapon he was carrying. He made it to the street the truck was on just in time to see it flip ass over tip into a heavily guarded facility. 

Bucky continued to leap the gaps between buildings until he had a view of the facility. Oh, great. They stored diseases here. He heard Wilson confirming it over the radio as his wings cut through the dust of the rubble and landed inside. “I’m in position at the target, can you flap your wings and get that dust out of my way?” Bucky asked. 

“These wings don’t work like that, Sarge,” Wilson replied. 

Bucky grinned a little at the nickname. He liked it much better than _Gramps_ , though that was probably the best he was going to get from Stark. In fact, Stark seemed to call everyone by disrespectful nicknames. Perhaps he was genuine when he insisted that his derision was a form of affection. The billionaire certainly seemed to make fun of… well, everyone. Bucky was going to have to work on figuring out which was the friendly kind and which was not. 

Finally, the air started to clear enough that Bucky could make out shapes and, more importantly, colors. He knew the colors of his teammates’ gear and could tell which targets not to hit. Disengaging the safety on his rifle, he placed his finger firmly on the trigger guard. He wasn’t quite ready to fire. He could pick out his teammates easily enough, but not which of the others might be civilians. The three engaging Wilson were clearly combatants, but the rest he could not be certain about. Bucky took aim at the thigh of the one that seemed to have the fastest attack rate and took him down. He acknowledged Wilson’s thanks with a grunt as he waited for a clear shot on one of the other two. 

Maximoff was engaging a fourth with her disturbing red magic swirls that never failed to make Bucky’s skin crawl. Bucky took that one out partly because he couldn’t get one of Wilson’s, but mostly to stop the scarlet dust clouds. At least they weren’t blue. 

His eyes flicked to the building. Insurgents were spilling out of it, and there was one with a white X painted on his armor that confirmed his identity as Crossbones. He was carrying a case, which he then handed off to the driver Bucky had recognized as his former handler. “Get the case!” Romanoff ordered over the comms as she took on Crossbones. 

Bucky did not want to engage this particular target. Unfortunately, his options were taken away when Stark announced a secondary enemy squadron a few blocks over. Divide and conquer. It was one of HYDRA’s favorite tactics. He slung the rifle over his shoulder again and took off after Rollins. 

Doing his best to mute his thoughts, he focused solely on the mission. He had to retrieve whatever disease had been stolen that his target (not Handler, _not Handler_ ) was attempting to return to HYDRA with. It would be easier if he had gotten an appropriate amount of sleep the previous night, but no. He had to dive head first into his therapist’s mission to do something besides save as much of the world as he could get his hands on. 

Stark was engaging several hostiles in what appeared to be a central square. This was where Rollins chose to stop, which meant Bucky threw himself down on the edge of the roof and took two of them out before Rollins or the remaining two HYDRA operatives realized there was a sniper in the mix. It wasn’t the way Rollins said, “He’s here,” into his radio or even the fact that he was looking almost exactly at Bucky’s position. It was the smile, like they knew their former Asset would show up, like it hadn’t been about the disease so much as creating havoc at scene after scene until the Avengers showed up and brought Bucky along to be swallowed up again by mind control and thrown into cryo. 

A shiver caused him to merely graze Rollins’ shoulder instead of taking him all the way the fuck out. “Barnes, you okay up there?” he heard Stark call breathlessly. Bucky tried to reply, but Rollins was smirking up at the building like he knew exactly what kind of effect his presence was having. Bucky gritted his teeth and, with a scowl at least twice as big as his face, put a bullet between his former handler’s eyes. 

“I’m fine,” he all but growled. There were footsteps behind him and he was forced to abandon his rifle to go after HYDRA’s reinforcements. They’d found him on the rooftop. Bucky drew his knives and took out three but, true to their motto, six more took their places. They backed him to the edge and he stepped over, letting his metal hand slow his descent. He had no chance of stopping them without backup, and that meant going down to Stark. He and Stark took out the last two at ground level and Bucky kept his gaze trained at the building. “They’re here for me,” he told Stark under his breath. 

Thankfully, there were no jokes, no questions on how he knew this. The steady trickle of soldiers flowing from the building Bucky had just jumped off of were evidence enough. “Gramps and I need backup right the hell now!” Stark shouted into the radio. “Jesus Christ, where are they all coming from?” 

“It’s HYDRA,” Bucky replied, because that was all the answer that was required. If the Avengers hadn’t pieced together by now that HYDRA was everywhere, they might never. The only reason they hadn’t shown up earlier was that they had no proof their actual target was here. If he hadn’t shown up, he was sure they’d be perfectly content with whatever they’d stolen until they hit something high enough profile to lure in the Avengers. 

Wilson and Maximoff were the first to arrive, with Romanov sprinting in a few minutes later. Bucky only barely noticed. He was in the head space where he was more machine than man, reflexes leading without his brain as he attempted to cut down the never ending swarm intent on taking back his hard-won free will. His only awareness of his teammates at this point were their positions so he did not accidentally cut them down along with HYDRA. He purposely did not attempt to ascertain if they were in need of assistance as there was nothing he could do and he didn’t have space for worry- only reflexes. 

By the time they began to gain an upper hand, Bucky realized he was tense and barely breathing. There was blood on his hands, a feeling he knew too well. At least this time, he knew whose it was and that they were HYDRA. 

He should have been paying more attention to his team. Once again, HYDRA had managed to divide and conquer. Bucky was walled in by enemy combatants and his team was stuck on the other side. They were fighting, but he couldn’t tell if they’d noticed the wall yet. 

“ _Soldat_.” 

Bucky’s eyes flicked toward the voice that spoke the command- no, not command. Word. It was just a word. Still, he could feel every muscle in his body snap to attention. “Stand down. Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

A horrifying moment passed where Bucky was certain he wouldn’t be able to resist the familiar voice, the programming buried so deep in his brain that he probably couldn’t even find it with an X to mark the spot. Rumlow was so close that Bucky could smell him even through the mask. He managed to engage just in time to stop the man from coming up with any more (or stronger) commands. 

“I need immediate extraction,” Bucky said into his comms. His voice was unsteady with the stress of fighting both his own mind and the Handler. He didn’t know if he could break through another command. 

“Hold on, Barnes,” Romanov replied. Bucky could hear her understanding of the urgency and it gave him a little extra strength. _His team was coming. He only had to make it until they got through the thinning wall of enemies. They weren’t going to leave him there. He wouldn’t be taken again._

In fact, the wall was getting so thin that even Rumlow seemed to be getting agitated. His attacks became desperate and sloppy before finally calling for a Contingency Four. “No!” Bucky yelled. “Maximoff!” 

She looked to Bucky as he scanned for an agent with explosives. His eyes landed just as the pin was pulled and thank Christ she was watching him. Her reflexes were impeccable, encasing the HYDRA agent in his own explosion, flying him up into the sky to explode in a harmless light show. Only it didn’t quite go that way. 

Well done, _Soldat_ ,” Rumlow said, patting him firmly on the back. Bucky could hear the smile in his voice. “Next time, you’re coming home.” 

And then they were gone. There were news crews. Of course there were. They captured the explosion, they captured that pat on the back. The only thing they didn’t capture was Maximoff’s face when she lost control of the explosion and saw the death she had inadvertently caused. That was a feeling Bucky knew well and one none of the news anchors seemed to want to mention while condemning her. 

It was no surprise to find her later hiding out on the roof of the tower, twirling red clouds of magic around her fingertips. Bucky rubbed absently at his face as the breeze hit his bare cheeks and jaw. He wasn’t used to being outside without the mask, though the roof of the tower was probably safe. 

“Shouldn’t you be glaring at your guns or something?” she asked, though there was no bite to her words. 

He sat down next to her and sighed heavily. “I’ve been told I need to spend more time with the team outside of missions.” 

“I am not very good company right now,” she informed him. 

“I’m not very good company ever,” he replied. “But I figure you’re hurting in a way I’m pretty damn familiar with.” 

“You have blown up an entire building of innocent-” 

“I mean, yeah,” Bucky interrupted. “I guess you haven’t read my file, but I’ve killed people in just about every way you can think up.” 

She shook her head. “It is not the same. You were not in control of your actions.” 

Bucky actually looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “So you made a conscious choice to throw that guy into the building?” he prompted. “You were in complete control?” 

She didn’t reply, but Bucky was pretty sure his words had landed. He turned his gaze ahead and stared at what little of the New York skyline he could see over the rail of one of the highest towers in the city. They sat in silence for a while before she finally said, “How do you stop feeling the guilt?” 

“You don’t.” 

She tried to meet his eyes, but he stared resolutely ahead. He was starting to get that itch under his skin that meant he needed to move or he was going to lose his mind. He stood abruptly and headed to the gym where he proceeded to murder three punching bags before he felt calm enough to tape them back up. 

He needed to sleep. It wasn’t forthcoming. Bucky tried, he really did. He laid in bed for almost an hour counting sheep, deep breathing, executing muscle relaxation exercises… Nothing was working. 

So, he turned to his literary masterpiece. 

~*~ 

_Bruce traced Tony’s hip lazily as he spooned up behind him. Tony smiled just as lazily and grabbed the hand, pulling it over his stomach to force Bruce to just hold him. “You can just lie here with me, you know.”_

_“I know,” Bruce whispered. He planted a kiss on the back of Tony’s neck that sent shivers down his spine. “I just want to make you feel good.”_

_Tony let out a huff. “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say you did that. Twice. I’m gonna sleep like a baby.”_

_Bruce curled tighter around him. “Good.”_

Bucky double checked his formatting as he previewed the two thousand words of smut he’d written about his teammates and then, with a wicked grin, published it. He shut the computer and finally, finally managed to sleep. 

~*~ 

When he woke, it was to the feeling of cotton balls where his eyes should be and nothing really different in his surroundings. For some reason, he’d expected something groundbreaking to have occurred when he published his _fanfic_ , but none of his teammates were standing accusingly over him or banging on his door. 

With trepidation, Bucky got out of bed and went to check his story. 

Holy shit, it had three hundred views. Bucky had written smut about Stark and Banner and literally hundreds of people had read it. Staring intently at the number, he refreshed the page and the view count went up by two. 

Bucky wanted more. 

There were comments. Readers were asking him if he had a blog, and a couple were offering lewd suggestions for a sequel. 

Yes. Sequel. Bucky didn’t even go to the kitchen to make his shake. He simply opened a new document and began to type. This time, he ground out another thousand words about Stark’s fetish for green. He didn’t bring Hulk into it (even Bucky had his limits), but he definitely implied that Stark got hot seeing the big guy fight. 

He went ahead and set up a blog like so many had asked about and put his new handle in the author’s note. He wondered if it would make a difference to the fans reading his work if they found out he wasn’t serious about the “ship” like they were. As he dove deep into their discussions, he grew fairly certain that they would fight him (was this literal?) if they found out he was intentionally antagonizing Stark. Their fans seemed to be very violent in regards to their opinions and the defense of them. 

Because he couldn’t leave well enough alone, Bucky decided to poke the hornet’s nest and see if he got stung. _Tony Stark is a shallow narcissist who is incapable of talking about feelings,_ he posted. And waited. 

Hate began to fill his inbox, and he deleted most of it without reading. There were reblogs calling him an asshole, questioning how he could ship the science husbands and hold such a low opinion of Tony. Others chastised him for “tagging his hate,” and Bucky was about to log off when he saw a very long, very articulate response. 

_Hey, OP, don’t know if you’ll see this because you’re probably drowning in so much hate mail that you might delete. Since people have pointed out you ship Tony/Bruce, I’m assuming you don’t hate the guy and I share in their confusion about why you’d post something like this. So, I thought I’d break down your original statement. Of course none of us know the Avengers personally, but we do get glimpses in the interviews. Tony has joked in interviews before about how nothing he ever did was good enough for his father, and losing both his parents so violently had to have left some pretty deep scars. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a loss like that, but sometimes it feels like if you let yourself feel it you’ll lose complete control. The fact that his father was so distant has to have hurt, too. When you feel like all you ever do is disappoint the people you love, it’s easier to shrug it off like it doesn’t mean anything. Personally, I think the “shallow narcissist” thing is a front. I think Tony cares deeply what people think of him, which is why he’s constantly working on his suits, making new and better ones, like he thinks his only value is what he can give to people and how impressive he can be. The problem isn’t that he’s a shallow narcissist. It’s the exact opposite. Anyway. Hope the stans aren’t being too cruel._

Bucky stared at the screen and re-read the commentary at least half a dozen times. It felt like the floor had been ripped out from under him. His entire world was turning and changing and flipping with this information. 

Fuck. 

DodgerRogers seemed to know more about Stark without ever having met him than Bucky had discerned about him in months of working and fighting alongside him. What was worse was that Bucky was pretty sure Dodger was right. Immediately, he clicked through to the profile. 

_Steve. I draw._

Well, it wasn’t exactly heavy on the details, but Bucky didn’t need them. He’d figured out enough from the commentary that this Steve was a compassionate person. The fact that his first impulse was to reach out and offer information rather than the abuse Bucky was currently ignoring said everything, really. Bucky didn’t need this particular experience to know the internet was full of vitriol. He scrolled through the first page of posts Steve had done. There was the commentary, but everything else was just art. The tags were straightforward, not full of comments or jokes like many bloggers. Except for that commentary, the blog itself was as sparse as the _Steve. I draw,_ at the top. The art itself was simple in a way that made Bucky want to stare for hours, trying to understand how simple lines could so easily create such lifelike reproductions. 

Steve’s commentary was getting a lot of reblogs and Bucky was angry that his art wasn’t getting the same attention. There was a beautiful rendering of Times Square- only the Square itself was fuzzy and the only clear aspect of the drawing was a rose growing between two sidewalk cracks. Bucky wondered if Steve had actually seen this or if he’d just imagined it. Either way, Bucky loved it. In fact, for the first time since the ‘40s, he felt something besides urgency and a need to accomplish a mission. It was fucking beautiful. 

_Hey. Thanks for your message. You’re absolutely right, and I feel like an asshole for not realizing how deep Stark might go. Your art is really beautiful._

Bucky realized he was blushing as he sent the message to DodgerRogers. Why did he care so much what some kid on the internet thought of him? 

Bucky shut the computer before he could get in any deeper. It was stupid. This whole thing was stupid, and he needed to get a grip. Sure, Stark’s past wasn’t exactly sunshine and daisies, but that didn’t mean he was some tragic hero his fans seemed to want him to be. More importantly, Stark’s fans were probably the ones who hated Bucky the most. There was absolutely no good reason for him to get involved any further. 

To distract himself, he unpacked his rifle and began to take it apart and clean it. It had been scratched up a little during their last mission (when he’d been forced to abandon it on that rooftop) and he was determined to buff it out as much as possible. There was only so much maintenance he could do, however, and soon he was drawn back to the Pandora’s box of Stark fans. 

He was disappointed to find nothing in his inbox but more hate. Steve hadn’t replied. Bucky clicked on his name to look at more of his art only to discover he had, in fact, replied. Publically. He’d published Bucky’s message on his blog with a reply. 

_Guys, GrandpaStark has seen the error of their ways. Cool it, okay? You’re acting like a bunch of goddamn bullies. And thanks for the compliment on my art, Gramps._

Bucky should have picked a different name. 

~*~ 

Ever since the commentary on his “hate post” had mentioned interviews, Bucky had spent more than a little time on YouTube watching his teammates talk about themselves. It wasn’t until he came across one called “How Tony goes to the bathroom in the Iron Man suit,” that Bucky realized he had questions he’d never thought to ask. 

After watching the video, he realized he had some writing to do- and it was going to be significantly less explicit than his previous works. 

~*~ 

_”Ow! **Ow!** ” Stark yelled as the sparks burned his inner thigh. The suit was shorting out as fluids overwhelmed its circuitry. “Get this thing off me, JARVIS!”_

~*~ 

Garzer had made some assumptions when Bucky informed her he’d taken up writing, and he was perfectly happy to let her assume it was neither explicit nor featuring his teammates. He was also not sure if it involving the Avengers would count against it being unrelated to missions. She insisted they meet once a week so he could pretend he didn’t remember his past and tell her yes, he was still writing, and no, he didn’t want to share, and she could tell him to keep at it, he was doing remarkably well. 

One thing was definitely going well, and that was DodgerRogers. Steve had messaged Bucky several times, and Bucky was thrilled to log on one morning and find Steve had done an illustration of Stark trying to get out of a sparking and smoking Iron Man suit. He had even linked to Bucky’s story, calling it “Fucking hilarious and the kind of quality content I come here for.” 

Bucky only managed to stop smiling for a few minutes to glare at Stark for pointing out that his face wasn’t doing its usual “murder-brows thing.” 

His stories took a turn after that. There was no more smut, and he started writing about all of his teammates. He was never going to mention it to them ever, which was counterintuitive to the original plan to antagonize Stark. In fact, he was beginning to realize with increasing annoyance, it felt good. Doing something besides the mission felt good. Really good. 

That should have clued him in to the fact that it was all going to go to shit. The holidays were approaching and Stark’s fans exploded about halfway through the month. Tributes to the late Howard and Maria were posted, which was bad enough. The thing that well and truly killed him was a reblog Steve had done of his own art. It was the drawing of Iron Man’s smoking gauntlet, a dead Winter Soldier, the speech bubble declaring his vengeance. 

Bucky stared at it long and hard. Steve had even tagged it _the only art I’ll ever do of the Winter Murderer_. It hadn’t even occurred to him before that that he’d seen Steve post drawings of many of his teammates, but never him. 

He didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t like he could tell Steve (or any of them) who he was. He definitely couldn’t defend himself. He’d done it, after all. 

_Hey, you haven’t posted in a while and today is kind of a big day for Stark stans. Figured you might have written something. Everything okay?_

Bucky stared at Steve’s message. How could he be so observant, so compassionate toward a stranger, and so unforgiving toward who Bucky really was? He struggled with how to respond. 

_I don’t know where I fit in the world,_ he replied. Maybe he shouldn’t say something so personal to a stranger, but how much of a stranger was Steve anyway? Even if it hadn’t been too personal, they’d been talking for months. Bucky was pretty sure they were some type of friends, even if they weren’t close. 

_So that’s a no. Anything I can do?_

“Not hate me?” Bucky muttered to himself. He leaned on his elbow and stared listlessly at the screen. _It’s just a day where it seems like the whole world hates me is all. I’ll get over it.”_

Bucky waited for a reassurance. It shouldn’t take this long to tell someone they aren’t a piece of shit, but Steve was sure taking his time. Bucky was about to give up when the message finally came in. 

_I swear I’m not trying to be creepy, but I noticed once or twice you mentioned growing up in Brooklyn. I was just wondering if you were still in the city and if you’d want to meet? I don’t hate you, and I think maybe you could use a friend right now? You can definitely say no. I swear I’m not an axe murderer._

Bucky actually laughed a little. Leave it to Steve to make him feel better with one simple message. So Bucky found himself trying to dress like a civilian, making sure his hair was tied back and as non-Winter-Soldier-like as he could possibly get it. He entertained the idea of trying to shove it all into a baseball cap, but there was too much of it and it wasn’t like he’d be able to hide the fact that it was long. Besides, no one had ever seen his face except for HYDRA and the Avengers. Even his name had been kept separate from the Soldier. Maybe that was part of the problem, but Bucky wasn’t about to rectify it. He didn’t want attention. He didn’t want people to know how far he’d fallen. It was much easier to let them see a villain, to let all of them live in a world of black and white when it was so much more complicated than that. 

Sitting awkwardly at a table outside a Starbucks, Bucky began to have second thoughts. He’d worn jeans and a soft, baggy sweater, (and thank God it was winter in New York so he could get away with gloves to cover his left hand) but it was pretty hard to hide his physique under there. Someone like Steve, who had seen tons of footage of the Avengers and their interviews, stood a good chance of recognizing his figure. Right? 

Bucky was just about to get up when a short, skinny blond guy approached uncertainly. “Gramps?” he asked, self-consciousness evident in his tone. Bucky guessed he’d feel the same way addressing someone who looked about thirty as _gramps_ without knowing for sure it was the right person. 

“Steve?” he all but confirmed. A brittle smile solidified on his face because this was _Steve_ , his friend who had saved him from the angry internet people, who had helped him see deeper than the surface, who made fucking beautiful art… who would fucking hate him when he figured out who Bucky really was. 

Steve beamed and, to borrow a phrase he’d seen in too many fanfics, it was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. Bucky could fucking bathe in that smile. “You’re, uh… Not what I expected,” Steve said with a nervous chuckle. 

“Expecting an old guy?” Bucky teased him. “I’ll have you know I am ninety-nine years old.” 

Steve would never believe that, right? Fuck, why did he say that? 

Bucky relaxed as Steve laughed. Good. Okay. Maybe he could do this after all. 

“I guess I was expecting someone more…” 

“Old?” 

“...like me?” Steve shrugged. “You don’t exactly look like the kind of person people hate.” 

“And you do?” Bucky frowned. 

Steve shrugged again. “No one’s lining up to be friends with a crooked asthmatic.” 

“I wasn’t aware we had to wait in line,” Bucky replied. Oh, that was smooth. Bucky managed to say something smooth. He needed to say something else just as smooth. “Should I fill out an application too?” Fuck, that wasn’t smooth. That was weird. Steve was gonna- 

Laugh. Laugh with that smile that made Bucky think in cliches because no one had been his friend in so long. Wilson had tried, and Bucky appreciated everything about him, but here was Steve trying and succeeding at making Bucky feel like a person without looking at him like something was fundamentally _broken_ in him. Like Bucky was already good, like he didn’t need to be fixed to be worthwhile. 

“I think we’ll forego the formalities this once,” Steve smirked. “So, do you have a real name or should I just keep calling you Gramps?” 

He really shouldn’t tell Steve his name. He should just keep using the code name. There was no danger of Steve figuring out who he was if he kept the code name. “Bucky,” he said before his common sense could stop him. “But Gramps is fine.” 

“Bucky,” Steve nodded, and suddenly Bucky wasn’t sure what he was worried about in the first place. Steve was a good person. Besides, people didn’t know his history too well. No one would think to connect him, especially when the name most people recognized wasn’t James Barnes (or Bucky). People recognized Sergeant America, not Bucky. “Unless you really want me to call you Gramps.” 

Bucky laughed a little. “Bucky’s fine. Just… stick to Gramps online?” 

Steve nodded. “Not a problem.” Awkward silence threatened, but apparently Bucky wasn’t the only one with a single-mindedness toward missions. “So anything in particular make you feel like everyone hates you?” 

Bucky felt his cheeks grow warm as he shrugged self-consciously. “I don’t really… know how to answer that,” he replied honestly. Good, that was a good answer. 

“Depression?” Steve asked, like he knew Bucky better than he should. Bucky repeated that same stupid shoulder movement because words were too difficult. “You seeing anyone about it?” 

“Therapist. Once a week.” 

Steve smiled a little. “Good. I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t hate you. I think your stories are great, and… I mean, honestly, I’ve never met anyone from online in person before, so… I mean, I care about you, Bucky. Not in, like, a stalker way.” 

Bucky snorted. “I appreciate that.” 

“I mean it, though. In all seriousness, I’m really glad you posted that stupid thing about Tony. I like our messages. I’m always happy to see a new one from you.” 

Oh, good. He was blushing again. “I’m always happy to get a message from you, Steve.” 

Oh. Steve was… Steve was blushing too. Okay. Good. That was good. Steve cleared his throat. “So I’m guessing Tony’s your favorite Avenger.” 

“Would I electrocute my favorite Avenger with his own suit?” Bucky snorted. “No, it’s… You know, I don’t know.” 

“People absolutely do worse than electrocute their favorites, Buck,” Steve laughed, and damn if Bucky didn’t love that Steve was giving him a nickname already. “I think they’re all great too, but I think Sam is probably my favorite. The whole pararescue, war vet thing… I really like when people just genuinely want to help, and it doesn’t get much more selfless than that.” 

Bucky almost told Steve that he was a vet, but that would be too many clues to his identity. It was too close to home. He didn’t want Steve to ask what war or anything else. Besides, he liked that Steve looked at him like he was a person rather than a hero or a villain. For the first time, Bucky realized that was the crux of his problem. He wanted to be a person, but he had so much red in his ledger… “I think my favorite is Romanov. She’s done some terrible things, but she’s trying to make up for it, and I think that’s pretty… good.” 

Steve nodded. “I… honestly, I had to stop reading the stuff that got leaked when SHIELD was taken down. But I agree. She’s really doing good.” 

“Enough to make up for the bad?” Bucky asked hopefully. 

“I don’t know if you can ever make up for certain kinds of bad, but helping the Avengers is a great place to start.” 

_And what about the Winter Soldier_? he wanted to ask. Steve’s approval had become too important, though. Bucky couldn’t risk letting Steve know he sympathized with someone the blond so clearly viewed as a black-and-white, no-questions-asked Villain. 

“Anyway,” Steve digressed. “Do we talk about our personal lives or is this a strictly fandom arrangement?” 

~*~ 

Bucky downloaded an app just so he could talk to Steve when he wasn’t at the tower. His team mates definitely noticed how attached he’d become to his phone, but if they thought he was doing something besides mission research, he had yet to receive any evidence of the fact. He kept the app itself well concealed, so none of them really knew what he was so furiously typing, though he had to be careful to watch his face. Steve seemed to have a preternatural ability to make him smile without realizing it, and it was mildly annoying. Bucky wouldn’t change it for the world, which was telling considering several months ago all he cared about was the world and saving it. 

Their conversations got more and more personal. _So in your original message to me, you said you didn’t know if I’d experienced that kind of loss. Have you? It sounded like you were speaking from experience._

Steve didn’t really remember his father who was killed in the Gulf War. His mother, however, had battled cancer throughout Steve’s high school career. He’d gone to art school to develop his skills, but dropped out when his mother passed away during his second year. Bucky hadn’t wanted to hug anyone in decades, but hell if he didn’t want to wrap Steve up and apologize for everyone and everything he’d ever lost. 

Bucky was becoming increasingly adept at dodging personal questions, and Steve was good enough to let him. 

Once again, Bucky should have seen it coming. Whenever he got too happy, everything went to shit. His face (or his mask, anyway) was all over the news. The Sokovia accords had been attacked, and he was being framed. JARVIS could confirm his alibi, so his teammates were on his side. The internet, however… 

Bucky had to shove the computer under the bed because Steve in particular seemed to be very vocal about misplaced trust and no-questions-asked Villains. Steve was so good, and so compassionate, and he hated bullies even more than Bucky did. The only trouble seemed to be that deep sense of justice Steve carried was misdirected. He knew what Bucky had done and wanted him to pay. It wasn't like Romanov, where he'd known her before the leaks and could choose to not know. Bucky wondered if Steve would still think she was great if he knew all the things she'd done or if he'd want her to pay for her crimes too. 

Steve messaged him a few days later and Bucky didn’t respond. Instead, he read Steve’s posts expressing his anger that the Avengers were protecting the Soldier. 

He continued to ignore the daily (sometimes more than daily) messages Steve sent expressing concern for his well-being. Bucky was a moron to think he could have this. 

~*~ 

_Hey, guys. I know this is a long shot, but I’m really worried about GrandpaStark. I haven’t heard from him in almost a month and it’s really not like him. Does anybody know him or have another way to contact him? I’m really, really worried something happened to him._

~*~ 

Bucky was made very aware of Steve’s concern the moment he chose to open the app. In spite of not responding, he’d still been addicted to those little confirmations that Steve was there, wasn’t giving up on him, even if he couldn’t bring himself to tell him to stop. It was the dozen or so not-Steves asking if he was okay that made him realize he had to break his silence somehow. He should just send Steve a quick “I’m fine,” or something, but Steve deserved an explanation (apology) and now, apparently, all these strangers felt entitled to one as well. 

Bucky was typing before he could think better of it, adding some trigger warning tags for vague mention of sexual assault. 

_I know we’re all supposed to hate the Winter Soldier for killing Tony’s parents and being part of HYDRA, and I definitely don’t think he deserves any medals. The thing is, the Avengers trust him and they wouldn’t if there weren’t a very good reason. If we can forgive Romanov, why can’t we forgive him? I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring everyone, but there’s been a lot of Winter Soldier hate lately and it makes me feel kind of sick. Assuming it’s been the same soldier committing all those crimes the past seven decades like they say, he’s either some kind of science experiment or a robot. Can you imagine what it would be like to be a HYDRA experiment? They’re evil fucking bastards, and I can’t imagine anyone consenting to the kinds of things they’d do to you. I’ve read some personal posts on this website that lead me to believe several of you know what it’s like to have your autonomy taken away. Not in the same way as many of you, but I know what it’s like to be forced to do things I don’t want to do, so every time you bad mouth the Winter Soldier, it feels like you’re bad mouthing me. I once told DodgerRogers that my favorite Avenger was Romanov. That’s probably true. But the Avenger (and yeah, he’s an Avenger) I relate to most is the Winter Soldier. Unfollow me if you have to._

Bucky hit post and then deleted the app. He didn’t care what the internet had to say about that, but he was definitely terrified of Steve’s reaction. 

~*~ 

Bucky managed to stare at his computer guiltily for a week before boredom and house arrest (basically) got him to open the website and check Steve’s response. There were several messages telling him he was naive or wrong, and how dare he compare people’s personal experiences to that monster? Steve’s was better, though only slightly. 

He thought Bucky was _projecting_. Bucky could have laughed if he didn’t feel like crying. Steve acknowledged that there probably was a good reason, Bucky was right, but that mind control just _doesn’t work that way_. After all, why would HYDRA be in control for seventy years and then suddenly not? Obviously the Soldier was still loyal to HYDRA and just biding his time. 

Bucky couldn’t answer that. 

_I need to get outside. You want to join me?_

Steve blessedly read into the message Bucky’s request that they not talk about the Winter Soldier anymore. Central park was a lot closer to Stark Tower than Brooklyn, but Bucky didn’t want Steve to know where he lived. Besides, they were both Brooklyn boys, so the Brooklyn Bridge park was probably a safe choice. Plus the team might not look for him there. 

Brooklyn wasn’t exactly how he remembered it, but the bones were there. He’d expected to feel some kind of happy nostalgia, but mostly he just felt sad. Just about everyone he knew was dead, and the borough was still growing and changing, burying his memories along with it. Steve found him parked on a bench, staring blankly at the water. Steve sat down with him and looked out. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Bucky said, with a weak smile. 

“I’m really glad we’re talking,” Steve told him. 

Oh, and there was the familiar feeling of guilt. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to worry you, it’s just… I’m not really good at this.” 

“At what?” 

“People?” Bucky shrugged. 

Steve snorted. “I’m the first person to tell you looks aren’t everything, but Jesus, Buck, I find it hard to believe somebody who looks like you has a hard time talking to people.” 

“I didn’t used to,” he admitted. “Hell, I used to go dancing half the nights the week, different girl almost every night.” 

“So what changed?” Steve prompted. “I mean, you don’t have to…” 

“Let’s just call it my Winter Soldier years,” Bucky replied. Steve didn’t push for details and Bucky loved him for it. “You’re- uh. Let’s just say my friends all look at me like I need to be fixed. Except you. You’re… I really appreciate that you don’t see anything wrong with me.” 

Steve reached to touch Bucky’s hand and he pulled away just in time to stop him from feeling the hard metal. He would have to be more careful to keep Steve on his right from now on. “Sorry-” Steve replied awkwardly. 

“No, it’s um. It’s fine. Do you want to walk? I want to walk.” 

Bucky made sure to stick himself to Steve’s left as they got up. As the silence stretched on, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d ruined something between them. Before he could overthink it, Bucky reached for Steve’s hand and gave it a squeeze. He didn’t let go. Neither did Steve. 

Finally, Bucky felt a little warmer. 

“So, a different girl every night, huh?” Steve teased him. 

“It wasn’t like I planned it. I’d just kind of show up and find a partner.” 

“I can’t imagine it being that easy. I’m twenty-eight and still a virgin. I haven’t even had a real first kiss.” 

Bucky felt his cheeks color and realized he was suddenly wondering what it would be like to give Steve that first kiss. He was also very aware that they were still holding hands. “Nothing wrong with that.” 

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Love ‘em and leave ‘em.” 

Bucky frowned and stopped walking. Shit. Steve thought-? “Steve, when I say dance, it ain’t a euphemism, pal. That’s all it was.” 

Was it Bucky’s imagination or did Steve seem pleased by this news? “Yeah, sure.” 

“I’m serious, Stevie. I can count on one hand the number of kisses I’ve had that meant anything.” 

Steve tugged him forward. “Tell me about them?” 

Bucky wasn’t sure that was a good idea, but he couldn’t think of a way to say no. “Her name was Peggy. Old fashioned, I know. She thought I was kind of full of myself when we first met, and she was probably right. God, she was smart and beautiful and never took anyone’s shit. I promised her a dance, but we never made it.” 

“What happened?” 

“Suicide mission,” Bucky replied, leaving out the fact that it was his own. “We kissed right before.” 

“Wait, was- was Peggy-?” 

“We served together,” Bucky nodded. That Peggy was in the SSR and he the army wasn’t a distinction he cared to make. They served together in every way that mattered, which was any way they could back then. 

Steve squeezed his hand. Bucky was too afraid to ask what he was thinking. “I’m sorry. She sounds amazing.” 

“She was,” Bucky smiled sadly. In fact, she was still alive. He’d looked her up at some point, but he was too afraid to face her looking like he hadn’t aged a day. He was afraid of how he’d explain it, how she’d look at him. He was afraid what they had wasn’t really anything to her. It had been short-lived. Hadn’t really even started. “She was probably my best friend. Don’t know if we really would have been good as more.” 

Steve shivered a little and Bucky let go of his hand in favor of tucking him under his arm. It was unreal how perfectly their disparate heights allowed for it. Steve slipped an arm around Bucky’s waist and Bucky did his best to hold his left arm slightly more _away_. “You’re cold,” he stated. 

“I’m okay,” Steve insisted, and Bucky got the impression Steve was the kind of punk who’d challenge a guy twice his size to a bar fight and keep getting back up until he couldn’t move. “It’s just a little weather.” 

“Maybe we should call it a day…” 

Steve shook his head and it felt weirdly intimate. “I missed you, Bucky. I know we’re just internet friends, but I like being around you. It’s worth a little cold.” 

“Well, if this is going to become a habit, we won’t be just internet friends much longer,” he teased. “We’ll have to be, you know, I-R-L friends.” 

“Sounds alright to me,” Steve agreed. 

“Me, too.” 

~*~ 

Bucky dreamed about snow that night. It was Siberia all over again, only this time he escaped. Every time he relived it in his dreams, he made it all the way to that damn door at the end of the hall that he couldn’t hack. Siberia didn’t matter anymore, it was behind him, but somehow Bucky always found his way back. His subconscious desperately wanted him to know that he just needed to be a little faster, a little smarter, a little… A little blond. 

Steve was on the other side, shivering in the snow. He opened the door and Bucky immediately went to wrap him in a warm hug, not caring about what he’d figure out, only that he stop shivering. The landscape changed. The snow was still there, but they were at the park and Bucky’s arm wasn’t metal and Steve was looking up at him, those damn blue eyes practically sparkling with the reflected light from the snow. Steve was on his toes, reaching up, eyes closing. Bucky was reaching down. 

He woke up before their lips could connect and realized he was fully, completely screwed. 

~*~ 

Apparently the Avengers’ word on his alibi wasn’t good enough to refute video “evidence” of Bucky’s act of terrorism, so his house arrest continued during missions. It so happened that they all left to take care of some kind of threat involving an enhanced individual and fire just a few days after the park. Thankfully, he didn’t have to be alone with his thoughts too long because Steve had his phone number now and had texted him a quick, “You busy?” 

“I think I can fit you in.” 

There was a long pause and Bucky considered clarifying that he was joking, no he wasn’t busy, please for the love of God _talk to him_ before he could crawl out of his own skin. 

“I have kind of a big favor,” Steve’s reply finally came. 

Something lit up inside him at the thought of helping Steve in any form. “I have literally nothing to do today. What do you need?” 

“Can you come over?” 

Bucky’s heart skipped. Steve wanted him at his house. Steve trusted him enough to tell Bucky where he lived. “I’d love to.” 

There was another delay and Bucky thought maybe he’d misinterpreted, but then the reply came and he realized Steve really did need help. “It’s not exactly a social call. I should’ve called it when you suggested it the other day, but I didn’t want to, and now I’m sick and I need help getting to the hospital.” 

All Bucky managed to send was “Address,” before he was putting on his civilian costume and heading for the subway. It took almost an hour to get to Steve’s address (seriously, fuck public transportation, and fuck the world for needing saving when Bucky needed that quinjet because Steve was sick and in need of a fucking _hospital_ , Bucky was going to fucking kill him for not taking care of himself-) and Bucky was in mission mode by the time he finally arrived. His knock was a little too forceful, and he didn’t relax any during the full minute (hour?) it took Steve to answer the door. 

That blond hair was almost soaked in sweat, and Steve was wheezing shallowly. “So my immune system is kind of garbage,” Steve told him sheepishly. He was off, though. His eyes were glazed and he looked like he might collapse at any moment. 

“Where are your keys?” Bucky asked. Steve glanced to the side and Bucky poked his head in enough to see them hanging on a hook. “ID? Insurance?” Steve grabbed a wallet from the table by the door and Bucky grabbed his keys before literally picking Steve up. He didn’t give a shit if Steve found out about his metal arm anymore. Bucky had been in T.B. wards and part of him was convinced Steve was dying. He locked Steve’s apartment before rushing down to the curb and hailing a cab. No more public transit. Stark would undoubtedly get an alert that Bucky was out and using his card, but he didn’t give a single shit. Steve could _die_. 

Bucky cradled him throughout the cab ride, glaring daggers every time the driver stopped or turned abruptly enough to jostle the blond who was currently burrowing into Bucky’s chest. He should have grabbed a blanket or a coat or something for him. Fuck, Steve was probably freezing and Bucky had been in such a rush to get him to a doctor that he hadn’t even thought… 

The E.R. was crowded and Steve was no help. Bucky had to fish out the his wallet to get him checked in and then they told him to _wait_. It took everything he had not to tear the counter off the check-in desk and throw it across the room before demanding that they save Steve _right the fuck now._

He had to settle for sitting quietly in the waiting area and arguing with himself about how much his sweater would help if he ended up showing off his arm to the hospital waiting room. He held Steve close and tucked the damp head under his chin, rubbing his spine in an attempt to warm him up with friction alone. Steve curled closer and something in Bucky’s chest reared its head triumphantly in spite of the terrible situation. “Just hang on, pal,” Bucky whispered. “They’re gonna come get you soon. Just hang on for me, okay?” 

Steve mumbled something incoherent and Bucky shut his eyes and rocked a little as he tried to ignore the wheezing. 

He didn’t know how long they had to wait (years, it felt like), but they finally came for Steve. The problem was that Bucky wasn’t allowed to go with him and Steve was in no condition to tell them otherwise. So Bucky was stuck waiting impotently in a plastic chair. He only knew he’d been dissociating when he felt a warm hand on his arm and met Wilson’s gaze. “What happened?” the man asked. 

“Steve,” Bucky replied, because his brain was still in a bit of a haze. 

“Steve?’ Wilson repeated. 

“I think he’s dying,” Bucky replied, still expecting Sam to understand who Steve was in spite of the fact that Bucky was still pretending all the time he spent on his phone was mission-related. 

Wilson squeezed his arm a little harder, and the pressure grounded Bucky a little more. “Back up, Sarge. Who is Steve?” 

“My friend,” Bucky replied. Wilson was at a loss for words long enough that Bucky continued babbling. “He doesn’t know who I am. He’s going to hate me when he finds out, he thinks I’m a monster, he’ll never want to see me again, but- Do you think he could have been delirious enough not to notice it’s metal?” 

“Slow down, Sarge,” Wilson said and squeezed his arm again. “What’s going on with Steve?” 

“Sweating, wh-wheezing. Barely stand up. Asked me if I was busy instead of just saying he needed help.” Bucky blinked rapidly against the moisture in his eyes. 

“Okay, that doesn’t sound great, but they checked him in, right?” Wilson replied calmly. “He’s with doctors now, and they’re going to help him.” 

“What if it’s T.B.?” Bucky worried. 

Wilson gave him a knowing look. “People don’t usually die from that kind of thing anymore.” 

“But he’s so small,” Bucky insisted. “Crooked asthmatic.” 

“Hey. He’s gonna be fine.” 

“You’re his favorite Avenger,” Bucky replied, because of course that’s what he’d think of in that moment. 

Wilson grinned. “Oh yeah?” 

“He likes that you’re a pararescue. Noble and stuff. Steve is a really good person.” 

“Yeah, he sounds great,” Wilson agreed. “So do the rest of us get to meet him?” 

Bucky shook his head. “He can’t know it’s me under the mask.” 

“Why not?” 

Bucky chuckled miserably. “Because he’s right. I’ve done terrible things, and-” 

“Against your will, man. You weren’t in control.” 

With a sigh, Bucky pulled his arm free. “That’s not how mind control works. Why would it work for almost a century and then suddenly not? Something in me had to want-” 

“Shut the fuck up, Barnes,” Wilson warned him, and Bucky was actually startled into doing so. “When I was a kid, there was a pipe that flooded our whole building. Had to move out for months while repairs were done. You know how it happened? When they were putting an ice machine in, a tiny, almost nonexistent hole got punched in the pipe by a screw that went into the wall just a little too far. This hole dripped slowly for three or four years without anyone noticing. The pipe got rusty and mold built up in the wall before finally the hole was worn down and rusted enough to break open. You broke out. That’s what matters. Who cares how long it took? _You broke out._ ” 

Bucky nodded a little. He didn’t believe it deep down yet, but Wilson’s words had planted a seed that might grow into something he could hold onto. “Where’s the rest of the team?” he asked finally. 

“At the tower,” Wilson confirmed. “We decided not to make a scene and figured I was least likely to be recognized.” 

“Oh.” 

“Speaking of, I better text Tony and let him know you’re not dead or arrested.” 

“We could tell him I’m one of your vets.” 

“What?” 

“From the V.A.” 

“Tony?” 

Bucky blinked. “Steve. I told him I was a vet.” 

Wilson grinned. “I get to meet Steve?” 

~*~ 

After more than enough “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you knew Falcon,” Steve and Bucky’s relationship returned to pretty much normal. Steve had been stuck in the hospital for just over a week and Bucky visited him every day. He would always cross to the window in Steve’s room and fiddle with the blinds for an excuse to sit on his left. 

He didn’t know how much longer he could keep it up. 

“I think you should write a Winter Soldier fic,” Steve said. 

“What? Why?” 

It was the morning they’d promised to release the blond, and he had that look in his eye that meant he was going to keep getting back up no matter how many times Bucky pushed his idea down. “We might not know what his story is, but you said you relate, right? Write a story about him. It doesn’t have to be true. I know there’s a lot of smut out there, but there’s also a lot of people reaching out and healing. Have you read the one where Tony falls for a Sokovian who dies? The author wrote it about losing her husband to cancer.” 

Bucky shifted uncomfortably and wondered if maybe that fic made Steve think of his mom. “What would I even write it about?” 

“Whatever you want. Make it about your ‘Winter Soldier years’ or Peggy or what you had for breakfast. Make it funny like the one where Tony pees in his suit. I just… I think it’d be good.” 

So Bucky tried. He tried to do something funny where the arm malfunctioned, but scrapped it a couple hundred words in. He tried writing about protein shakes and super soldier metabolism, but it wasn’t interesting and would probably give him away. Steve was right, though. It didn’t have to be real. It didn’t have to be true. 

It took all day, but he managed to write a scene between himself and Stark where he apologized and Stark forgave him. In it, he had the Soldier (himself) telling Stark about his sisters and parents, about how he hated that family had been taken from Tony even if it couldn’t be idyllic. Bucky told him what it was like to live in the fog where he couldn’t control his own body, couldn’t even quite tell who he was hurting. By the time he finished, he realized he was crying. 

He wondered if the real Stark would or even could ever forgive him. 

~*~ 

Finally, the world powers seemed to realize they were never going to get through the Avengers. They agreed that, as long as Bucky was Avenging, they would leave him alone. It wasn’t like they could track him down. James Barnes died in 1945 according to all official records, and even the unofficial ones. He never once showed his face when he was with them. The time Wilson met him at the hospital could easily have been the exact lie they told Steve: that he was meeting a vet from his program. No one would think twice about it. 

Unfortunately, the world powers were damn dirty liars and it was (predictably, now that he looked back on it) a trap to get him out of the tower. It looked like the entire damn army showed up to take him. “Everyone but Barnes form a barricade!” Stark yelled into the comms. “Barnes, you get the hell out of here! Get back to the tower!” 

Bucky didn’t like leaving his team. He didn’t like running. He could see a losing battle when he saw one, though. “What if they take you?” he demanded. 

“They’re after you, not us. Now get the hell out!” Romanov yelled at him. “And Bruce- get angry.” 

Bucky nodded and took off. They were surrounded, so it wasn’t easy. Metal clanged as he jumped for a fire escape and bounded up a building. Hopefully they hadn’t thought to cover the rooftops. Bucky could use the rooftops. There were fucking news helicopters up there, as if running without any witnesses wasn’t humiliation enough. He was going to be trapped in the tower forever. Useless. Unable to help anybody. He couldn’t even come up with some new identity because his fucking arm was too identifiable. 

He stopped running. “Guys, they can have me.” 

“Shut the hell up, Barnes!” came Wilson’s voice. 

“I didn’t do anything! They can’t hold me if I didn’t do anything!” 

He could only imagine what he looked like to the news copters, standing on a roof, gesturing wildly, talking to people two blocks away. 

“Barnes, I don’t think they care what you did or didn’t do. If our- fuck!” 

Bucky’s heart hammered painfully in his chest. “Romanov?” he asked urgently. She sounded hurt. That was not a good fuck. It was a very, very bad fuck. Immediately, he whirled around to go back the way he came. 

_Sputnik._

He barely saw the white X before his world went dark. 

~*~ 

In 1945, Sergeant America gave his life for his country. He was on a Nazi aircraft destined for New York city, unable to change course. The only way to save the hundreds of thousands of people from the crash was to put the plane down in the middle of the ocean. 

In 1945, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was reported killed in action. No mention was made in his record of Dr. Abraham Erskine’s serum with which he’d been injected, or of his heroic leadership at Azzano in freeing approximately two hundred prisoners of war. 

In 2011, that Nazi aircraft was discovered with a hole burned through the floor and no sign of Sergeant America. 

In 2011, the world heard his last words with Margaret Carter for the first time. He was extolled as a hero, but his real name remained a footnote in records sealed by the SSR and later by SHIELD. 

By the time the Winter Soldier managed to take back his own mind and help Romanov leak SHIELD intel, the hype over the Sergeant had died down and no one thought to look for information on him. A few small websites dedicated to combing through the files mentioned him, but HYDRA’s hidden crimes against humanity were far more interesting to the general public. 

Bucky remained forgotten by nearly everyone except those infiltrators. 

He drifted. He knew he had somewhere important to be, something important to do, he just couldn’t remember what. The Nazi plane formed around him and he remembered it just like he remembered Siberia: yet another situation where if he’d just been a little faster, a little better, he could have saved the day without ending up in HYDRA’s clutches. Schmidt had just been blasted away by that blue cube and Bucky went after it, knowing he couldn’t let HYDRA get it back. The plane they probably had trackers on, so he had to get the thing out. He grabbed a life vest so he wouldn’t have to touch it directly, but it didn’t help. The vest went up in blue flames that licked up his arm and seemed to almost dissolve that part of his body. By the time he pulled away, the room was lit in blue and his arm was gone. Just above the sound of his own agony, he could hear metallic thuds as the cube protected itself. The room faded from blue to white as all that was left was the approaching snow. “Sergeant? Sergeant, can you hear me? It’s Peggy Carter-” 

When he woke up, he knew where he was before he opened his eyes. He knew this chair so well it was practically a part of his body. 

“ _Soldat_.” 

He kept his eyes shut. He knew, Bucky knew he couldn’t trust his freedom. He was never going to escape HYDRA, not really. It was fucking Siberia all over again, only this time the door he couldn’t hack was a frame job for a terrorist bombing. “Open your eyes,” Rumlow ordered. Bucky turned his head as if that might close them more. “ _Soldat_ , obey. Open your goddamn eyes.” 

Bucky fought, but he was tired and the other trigger word had scrambled his egg hard. When he did open his eyes, he wished he hadn’t. Across the room, there was a small figure handcuffed to the wall. 

_Steve_. 

“Good,” Rumlow said with a wicked grin. “Meet your next target, Soldier. You’re going to torture him for as long as possible before he dies.” 

“N-no,” Bucky ground out. 

“ _Soldat_ , obey.” 

Bucky felt his arms pushing him up from the chair. His legs were taking his weight. “No,” he repeated, but this time he was begging. “No, please, not him-” 

“ _Soldat_ , we’ve been surveilling you. If you think this target was not chosen purposefully… Order through pain. Your insubordination has to be punished. Obey, _soldat_.” 

The word felt like a physical blow every time Rumlow said it, and Bucky watched his arm reach out and take the knife Rumlow offered. It was shaking. At least he was fighting. Steve had to know he fought, had to know how much Bucky didn’t want to do this. His body turned and he was forced to meet Steve’s gaze. The blond was gagged, but his wide, horrified eyes were visible above the fabric wound around his face. “Please don’t,” Bucky begged again and realized he was crying. 

Rumlow repeated the word, ordered him again to obey. Bucky’s limbs felt like steel in a hurricane as he fought to remain rooted where he was. Again, Rumlow repeated it, roared it in his ear until Bucky pictured Steve’s face on Rumlow’s shoulders and managed to convince his asshole brain that Rumlow was Steve, that Rumlow was the target. 

The former Handler was bleeding out before he realized he needed to defend himself. 

Once again, Bucky was covered in blood. 

He turned to Steve, and couldn’t bring himself to meet the blond’s gaze. “I need backup,” he barely managed to whisper. He didn’t know if his comms still worked. “Does anyone read?” 

“We’re about five minutes out,” came Wilson’s voice. “We’re tracking your comms, so don’t lose it okay?” 

“Is Romanov okay?” he asked unsteadily. 

“She took a hit, but she’s fine. Safe and sound in the tower.” 

Bucky took a few unsteady steps toward Steve before his legs gave out and he fell to his knees. He wasn’t about to leave Steve tied up. He crawled the last couple of meters and finally looked at Steve. The smaller man looked terrified, and Bucky instead focused on the cuffs. The keys were probably somewhere, but Bucky didn’t know if he had it in him to look. With his left hand, he pinched the chain until it broke. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Stevie, I swear I’d never hurt you, I never wanted to hurt anyone,” he babbled as he reached across to break the other chain. 

Steve had pulled off the gag and practically fell into Bucky once he was free. “I know, Buck. I know. I was so scared they were going to get you back.” 

“W-what?” 

“Bucky, I’m not a moron,” Steve whispered. He clung tight to Bucky’s neck and folded into him. “I didn’t put two and two together right away, but I figured it out when Falcon showed up. You never let me get near your left arm, you go dark when the Winter Soldier hate gets too loud… Plus you keep joking about being a hundred-” 

“Ninety-nine,” Bucky corrected him. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Steve replied fondly. “And I know who Peggy Carter is. Just used to hearing her called Director.” 

Bucky breathed out. “Director,” he echoed, because he really hadn’t read too much about her life beyond that she was still living it. He knew she’d moved on and he didn’t want to know how well she’d done without him. Part of him was convinced some day he’d have the courage to ask her himself. “Yeah, that sounds like her.” 

“You okay?” Steve asked seriously. “You just… I’ve never seen you… You fell on the ground, Buck.” 

Bucky wanted to bury his face in Steve’s shoulder and never come out again, but he had to stay alert. This was a HYDRA base of some kind and backup wasn’t there yet. “You fight off seventy years of brainwashing and tell me your whole body doesn’t feel like fucking jam,” Bucky grumbled. “Come on, we gotta move. Backup’s coming, probably not just ours.” 

He didn’t need to worry. Wilson and Stark arrived less than a minute later, and the base was almost empty. Most importantly, there were computers. Stark downloaded them onto a portable drive and they beat a hasty retreat back to the tower. 

~*~ 

The first thing Bucky did once they got back to the tower was deposit Steve on the couch and put a blanket on him. It wasn’t cold, but his mission instincts wouldn’t shut up and Steve being cold had previously almost killed him, so it was something he could do to shut up that one small part of his brain. 

He hovered and didn’t bother hiding his impatience as Stark set up a computer on a closed network to read what they’d downloaded from the base without risking the whole system. 

Fed up, Stark straightened his spine and glared at Bucky. “Can I get some space here, Gramps? Go sit with your boyfriend.” Steve laughed at the nickname and then they were both protesting that Steve wasn’t his boyfriend. “Don’t care. Out. I’ll call you when I have something. I can’t take the hovering and the sexual tension is very distracting.” 

“There’s not-“ Bucky protested, but Stark silenced the argument with a look. Bucky narrowed his eyes in return. “You better call soon.” 

So Bucky led Steve to his tower suite and sank into the couch. The silence was heavy and awkward for what was subjectively five thousand years before Steve said, “Well, that was something.” 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky apologized. “I should have been more careful when-“ 

But Steve was saying at the same time, “You can’t help Tony thinking- what?” 

“What?” 

“I meant Tony thinking we’re dating,” Steve clarified. “What did you mean?” 

“I should have been more alert when I came to visit you. If I’d paid more attention, they wouldn’t have found out about you, you never would have been in danger in the first-“ 

“Buck, you’re only human,” Steve assured him. 

Bucky gave him a wry smile and shook his head. “I’m not,” he told Steve. “I’m super-human. A super-soldier. Maybe the first one ever.” 

Steve turned sideways and tucked one of his legs onto the couch before grabbing Bucky’s hand. “I’m okay, Bucky. And, super or not, you’re still human. You can’t do everything.” 

Bucky blinked rapidly, but he couldn’t look away from Steve. He turned his palm up to grip the blond’s hand and suddenly realized, at least for him, there was some of that sexual tension Stark was complaining about. “I don’t want to put you in danger.” 

Steve gave him a small smile. “I had him on the ropes.” 

“I know you did,” Bucky replied. They stared at each other for another moment before Bucky cleared his throat with a nervous chuckle and forced himself to look away. “That’s probably why Stark thinks we’re… you know.” 

“Dating,” Steve confirmed, and he sounded oddly confident about it. “I mean, we do keep holding hands and having these awkward staring contests. I can see why he thought it.” 

“I’ll try to stop the awkward staring, sorry.” 

“You don’t have to,” Steve said and there was something in his voice that Bucky couldn’t place. “I mean, if it’s…” 

Steve seemed to lose his nerve for the first time since Bucky had known him. Bucky met his eyes again. “If it’s what?” 

Steve wasn’t looking at him. “I dunno. True?” 

“I think we’d know if we were dating,” Bucky replied dubiously. 

Steve withdrew his hand. “Yeah.” 

Bucky’s heart started beating too fast then. Had Steve-? Did Steve-? “Did you-? Were you hoping-?” 

“It’s okay, Buck. I know what I look like.” 

All the air went out of his lungs. Steve thought Bucky didn’t want him? Because of his looks? “Then you know anyone would be lucky to-“ 

“It’s okay, Bucky. Seriously, stop. I’ll get over it, and it’ll be easier without you pretending I’m not a scrawny beanpole.” 

It took Bucky a moment to shut his mouth after realizing it was open. “Steve, no,” he breathed. 

Steve let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Buck, I’m not made of glass. I know the difference between fantasy and reality.” 

Bucky frowned. So Steve wasn’t going to listen to words. He wasn’t going to believe Bucky no matter what. Bucky knew what it felt like to have people insist the prettier truth was reality when it wasn’t. He knew that not having control over himself didn’t mean he didn’t kill people. So he’d have to show Steve that he was beautiful. He’d have to show Steve in a way that came from Steve. 

“Where’s your sketchbook?” Bucky asked suddenly. 

Steve seemed even more put off by the change in subject, but Bucky wasn’t about to let him get away with thinking he wasn’t the most beautiful man Bucky had ever met. “At my apartment?” 

“Right. Uh. Okay. Hold on,” Bucky said. He went looking for literally anything that could substitute and grabbed a napkin. He put it on the coffee table with a pen. “Draw yourself.” 

Steve gave him a dubious look and seemed ready to argue before shaking his head and giving in. It was a fairly accurate representation, though the look on his face wasn’t quite right. The real Steve had a light in his eyes, a tilt in his jaw that said he was going to kick your ass if you did something wrong. “Happy?” 

Bucky ignored the question. “Now draw me looking at you.” 

Steve glanced at him, clearly not understanding the point of the exercise. So he drew Bucky, looking at Steve, with a neutral face. “Anything else?” 

Bucky gave the drawing a sad look. “Yeah,” Bucky said softly. “You didn’t get our faces right.” 

“Buck, I know I’m not the best artist in the world, but I think this is pretty-” 

“Look at me, Steve,” Bucky said. “Look at me looking at you. You didn’t get my face right.” 

Steve turned, looking frustrated, and Bucky kept his face just like he knew it was when he looked at Steve. He looked at Steve like he always did, like he was the most beautiful fucking thing he ever laid eyes on, like he couldn’t stand the thought that eventually the day would end and he’d have to go home and leave Steve behind. 

Steve actually looked over his shoulder, like Bucky must be shooting that look at someone else. 

“Get my face right, Stevie.” 

Steve considered him for a moment, looking at Bucky, taking in the nuances of whatever was going on with his face. Bucky just watched him, thinking about reaching out to cup his cheek or run his fingers through his hair or- 

Kiss him. 

The moment was broken as Steve turned the napkin over and started a new drawing. Bucky just watched him run the pen over the fragile paper. This time, Bucky’s face had a small smile. His eyes were soft and he was leaning forward, toward the empty spot. Then, only once Bucky was fully formed, did Steve draw himself. The face was blank. “Napkin only has two sides,” Steve mumbled. “Do I have to get a mirror for you to approve, or-?” 

“Make it like… Like you know something’s wrong in the world and you’re gonna fix it,” Bucky said. “Like it doesn’t matter how big the other guy is because you can fucking take him and he’s gonna run the other way because you’re right and he’s a fucking asshole. Like you’re lit up inside and-” 

Steve dropped the pen and Bucky stopped speaking. Fuck, he’d screwed it up, he was going to- 

Kiss him. 

Steve’s lips were soft on his own, and his weight was solid and grounding in Bucky’s lap. Bucky let out some kind of noise as he reached for Steve and trapped him in an embrace the other man didn’t seem to care about leaving. “Steve-” Bucky barely managed to say with his lips being commandeered. 

“Is this okay?” Steve asked, and Bucky hated how suddenly unsure he seemed. He poured that hate into another, searing kiss. He could feel Steve’s lips smiling against his own and Bucky did the same. He wanted to live here, with Steve on top of him, kissing him, confident in the knowledge that the brunet was not going anywhere anytime soon. “I love you. Is it too soon to say that?” 

Bucky laughed a little as the happiness bubbled over. “I love you, Stevie,” he agreed as they took a moment to just breathe. He laid his palms flat against Steve’s back and leaned into him as much as he could without toppling them off the couch. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him and he pulled away to throw his head over the back of the couch. “Fuck,” he muttered in irritation. Steve reached for him uncertainly and then laughed when Bucky explained, “Stark’s never going to let me hear the end of it.” 

~*~ 

Luckily, Avengers Tower was a monstrosity with more rooms than Avengers, so Steve was given his own temporary safe house (apartment) on Bucky’s floor for the foreseeable future. The files Stark had downloaded from HYDRA pinpointed at least four dozen bases throughout the world and they’d been taking them down, one by one. More importantly, they provided enough evidence to exonerate Bucky from the terrorist act at the Sokovia accords. He really enjoyed the internet that night. 

Each mission, they picked a random HYDRA base. They didn’t want the enemy to know what kind of intel they had, and taking them off the map in order would be too much of a giveaway. They did recon first, determining what kind of personnel and defense each base had. It took them anywhere from a week to a month, and Bucky slowly began to realize that maybe they could do this. Maybe they could make a world where HYDRA wasn’t threatening the world, or people’s free will. Or Steve. 

At first, Steve had been spending a lot of time with Romanov (“So I’m your favorite Avenger, huh?” she had teased Bucky, and that was all he heard about it) while she recovered from the gut wound she’d taken facing down an entire army for him. Then, when she could fight again, Steve was left to his own devices while the team was out making the world safe. Bucky was just waiting for Steve to insist he could protect himself, that he didn’t need to be locked up in a gilded prison. 

He never did. 

They came back from a mission that should have been one of the month-long ones but instead was a week one, and for the first time Bucky didn’t want to see Steve. Their expedited schedule had resulted in civilian casualties and, once again, Bucky was covered in blood that should never have been spilled. He headed straight for his own apartment, but unfortunately the house always knew when people came and went and could easily tell someone like Steve exactly when they got back. 

Steve was, predictably, waiting outside the door. Bucky hadn’t taken off the mask or goggles yet because he didn’t want anyone to see his face. There must have been something in the way he carried himself, though, because Steve zeroed in on him immediately. He reached for the goggles and Bucky didn’t have any fight left in him to stop him. “Buck…” Steve breathed. 

“Need a shower,” he mumbled, amazed that Steve could still understand through the mask. “Think I’m just going to turn in for the night.” 

Steve looked wounded by the rejection, and Bucky already felt so shitty that there was no deeper guilt for him to fall into. Maybe he should have asked Steve to stay, or told him just how bad it had been, but he couldn’t. Steve was already giving up so much for Bucky. Hell, even Bucky could see that the Tower had become a prison for him just like it had been for Bucky. 

It shouldn’t have surprised him to find Steve packing the next morning. He looked like he’d been caught doing something wrong, like he was ashamed of what he was doing. “I’ll be fine,” was the first thing he said. 

“I know,” Bucky replied. 

“You don’t have to protect me.” 

“I know,” Bucky repeated. It felt like the floor had vanished and the only thing keeping him afloat was the cotton in his head. 

“I only stayed because I knew it’d be easier for you if you knew where I was, but I guess I kind of overestimated how much you need me and, I mean, I might still have a job, and-” 

The rest of the explanation, of how much of his own life had been ignored in favor of staying at the tower fuzzed out. It felt like he was in the mind control fog, except he was in complete control. “What if they come after you?” he finally managed to say. 

Steve smiled and it looked sad. “They won’t.” 

“Why not?” 

Steve laughed. “Because you don’t need me. It’s okay, Buck. I don’t- I’m not mad or anything. It’s just… It became pretty clear last night. You were hurting and you didn’t want me there. Which is fine. We haven’t been together that long, so I don’t expect you to trust me, especially not with your history…” Steve shrugged a little. 

“I do trust you. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to keep you from your life, I just want to make things better for you,” Bucky told Steve. _Please don’t go,_ he was screaming inside, but he couldn’t ask Steve for anything else. 

“And I want to make things better for you,” Steve agreed quietly. ( _Then don’t go, please don’t leave, what if they find you, what if they hurt you, what if they make me…?_ ) “But I think maybe it’ll be easier if I’m not hovering.” 

Bucky didn’t know how to explain. His thoughts were swirling too fast and he couldn’t get them out of his head in a way that made sense. “Can you- Just… I need-” he took a breath and tried to organize himself. The fact that he needed was the problem, wasn’t it? It was all about what Bucky needed. Steve kept giving and giving, and what was he getting in return? “Whatever you want, Stevie. Whatever you need.” 

Steve sighed and shook his head. “Yeah.” 

They delayed between missions, partly to throw off the trail and partly to rest. The next few days of nothing to do seemed like torture with the new information that Steve wouldn’t be there. As soon as he was gone, Bucky spent approximately two hours moping before deciding that there was still an imaginary Steve in the back of his brain who’d tell him to do something to cope. 

So he opened up the computer and found a bunch of notifications. There was the usual Winter Soldier hate, with some suggesting it was dangerous to humanize someone like that. Then there were some others who wanted him to know he’d written a beautiful story, that they were now interested in what the real Soldier’s backstory was, especially in light of the fact that HYDRA had turned on him for that frame job. 

So Bucky wrote. He wrote about Romanov, recognizing her, seeing her break protocol at the Triskelion in spite of the fact that she’d worked for HYDRA, using that logic to break his own programming. He wrote about how happy he was even in the face of distrust because he had his mind, he had a way to break out, he knew he could trick it now. He wasn’t a prisoner in his own body. 

Then he did something he’d never done before: he hit the button to add a new chapter. With every new chapter, his notifications exploded, his follower count rose, his kudos went up. Soon, he had more comments than he could read. 

He didn’t write about events that weren’t public knowledge. He only wrote things that someone who cared could speculate on, such as the blood on his hands, the need to hide until he felt clean. Until the last chapter. The last chapter was the one he needed the most. The last chapter was about the Winter Soldier meeting a young artist, saving his life, falling in love with his immovable sense of justice (even if that justice depicted his own death for the crimes he’d committed) and letting him go. 

His follower count plummeted. Readers were fucking furious that he’d made the end of the story unhappy, as if it could have had some other ending. Others were furious that it was _unresolved_ , as if he hadn’t fully explained that “Grant” didn’t need the Soldier, that the Soldier was finally doing something to clean off all the metaphorical blood by not draining “Grant” dry. 

A request suddenly appeared in his inbox to approve a related work. It was from DodgerRogers. Bucky almost deleted it, but he couldn’t just ignore Steve. Ever. 

It was art for his story. Steve had done art for his Winter Soldier story. 

There was one with him as the Asset, and it was chilling to realize that Steve could so accurately depict that. The rest of the drawings showed him without the goggles. He looked proud to bend over a computer with Romanov as they leaked their own history. There was one of him with the sniper rifle, his eyes wide with concern. Bucky was pretty sure that one was inaccurate, but this wasn’t about how Bucky saw himself, just like the napkin hadn’t been about how he saw Steve. This was Steve’s world, Steve’s vision. 

He stopped for a long moment over the one that was a closeup of his face. The mask covered most of him, but there were flecks of blood around his eyes. Most notably, there was a tear track. The next featured him and “Grant” holding hands in a park, looking out at the water from a bench. The Soldier was wearing civilian clothes, and they were both facing away from the artist. That was just as well, since Steve should, in theory, not know what the Soldier’s face looked like. 

_I know how the story ended, but I drew this anyway,_ prefaced the final image. 

It was the Soldier, crouched down and hunched over. His hands were held in front of him, red with blood. The goggles were off and he was looking at Grant like Bucky looked at Steve. That wasn’t the point of the picture. In it, Grant held the Soldier’s gaze fiercely as he gripped those bloody hands and wiped them clean with a rag. 

Bucky cried as he hit the kudos button, and sent Steve a text. 

_You got our faces right._

~*~ 

Epilogue: 

“You did what?” Bucky demanded. 

Wilson was laughing in the background as Romanov held up a tablet. “Sorry,” Steve mumbled from where he was leaning into Bucky’s side as they shared one of the large, plush chairs in the common area. 

“No, Steve, don’t apologize,” Romanov insisted. “You had no idea how devious we truly are when you mentioned you did Avengers art. And you especially had no idea that I am a clever bitch who can multiply two and two.” 

“It’s add,” offered Banner. 

“Different ways of getting four,” she insisted. 

“I’d just like to state for the record, that I absolutely know how much of a badass you are,” Steve insisted, blushing. “You’re, like, a super spy. I just… forgot.” 

“Because I was wounded?” 

“Because you’re Bucky’s friend.” 

Bucky couldn’t stop the smile at Steve’s words, but Romanov was all business. “Your adorable-ness will not save you. Bucky has been writing Avengers fan fiction, and we all need to hear it.” 

“Please don’t,” Bucky groaned. “I really… that stuff is… personal.” 

“Barnes, I had no idea you had personal feelings about Tony peeing.” 

“Wait, what?” Stark asked, and then began what might have been the most embarrassing twenty minutes of his life as Romanov actually read the story about the suit aloud. 

“Seriously, Barnes, if you ever want to quit Avenging, I think you have a future in writing,” Wilson remarked, still laughing. 

“Wait until you read the one where Bruce defiles Tony in the lab,” Romanov smirked. 

“Very funny,” Banner rolled his eyes. 

Romanov turned to Bucky with a wicked glint in her eyes. “I wasn’t joking. Tony has a real fetish for… green.” 

“It’s not like-” Bucky spluttered. “Look, Dr. Garzer told me I had to do something for fun, and you all were reading all the… I was just trying to- And that’s the most popular ship-” 

“What the hell is a ship?” Stark asked, and things continued to snowball. 

When things finally died down, Bucky was all too happy to return to his apartment (now _their_ apartment, since Steve had moved in permanently) and to curl up with Steve without witnesses. They’d fallen into a comfortable routine of cuddling and kissing before bed every night, and it was the kind of routine that kept a permanent smile on both of their faces. 

“I’m sorry Natasha did that,” Steve mumbled as they settled in. “I really didn’t think-” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky assured him. “I did technically write those to antagonize Stark. I just… wasn’t planning to reveal I’d written them.” 

Steve laughed a little. “I’d hate to read smut you wrote seriously, then.” 

“Why?” 

“Because if your jokes are that hot, your not-jokes will probably wreck me.” 

“I did a lot of research,” Bucky shrugged. 

Steve snorted. “I can’t decide if that’s funny or sexy.” 

“Why not both?” 

Steve kissed him. “Both then.” 

Something was charged in the air and Bucky inhaled sharply as Steve kissed him a little harder. Lying on their couch, Steve’s weight had always been cozy and comforting, but tonight it felt like hot ice. Bucky wanted to drown in it. 

“So now that I’ve unintentionally outed you to your team, how about I make it up to you?” 

“It’s fine,” Bucky replied. He was feeling almost lightheaded. “It was… probably... happen anyway.” 

Steve grinned at him and it looked almost evil. “That was a euphemism. Do you need to do more research?” he teased. 

Bucky let out a shaky breath. “Oh, okay. Then… Because you’re really, really sexy right now, and I’m kind of-?” 

“Turned on?” Steve laughed. 

“Uh huh.” 

“Me too.” 

Bucky smiled a little as Steve kissed him and his deft artist’s fingers began to roam. Following Steve’s lead, Bucky slid his own (rougher, less nimble) hands up Steve’s shirt to trace circles on his back. Was it okay to grab his ass? Was that something it was okay to do? It happened in smut a lot, but Bucky also didn’t want to push Steve or make him uncomfortable and what if Steve just wanted to- 

“Steve,” Bucky panted as those fingers began to toy with his nipple. Steve only smirked because he knew exactly what he was doing to the other man. Bucky rubbed at the small of Steve’s back, still uncertain, thinking maybe he should read more smut to see if it could make him as confident as Steve was in this moment because it was sexy as hell and Bucky wanted to be that for him. 

Finally, Steve reached back, grabbed Bucky’s hand, and placed it on his ass. “Touch me, Buck,” he whispered. “You’re allowed.” 

Bucky whimpered a little in the back of his throat, but he grabbed the rest of Steve’s ass with his other hand and massaged and experimented until he found something that made Steve moan into his mouth. He wasn’t sure if Steve had started grinding his hips down or Bucky had started grinding his hips up, but they were definitely both grinding against each other almost immediately. Bucky used his grip on Steve’s ass to deepen the grinding and if Steve’s breathless shudder was anything to go by, it had been the right choice. Steve gave Bucky a disoriented kiss on the jaw before placing a few hectic ones on his neck, where he kept his face as they moved together. 

“Love you, Stevie,” Bucky panted, and Steve moaned his name with a bodily shudder and then Bucky was coming hard and they hadn’t even taken their clothes off. He released his grip on Steve in favor of rubbing his back and touching him gently. Steve was boneless in his arms, nuzzling against his jaw. “Love you so much.” 

“Love you too, sap,” Steve murmured and then laughed a little. “Can’t believe I had to tell you to touch me. Keep forgetting you grew up in Victorian times.” 

“Wasn’t Victorian,” Bucky mumbled. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever, Gramps,” Steve replied with a breathy snicker. He cuddled against Bucky a little before letting out a hefty sigh that tickled Bucky’s ear. “We need to get cleaned up.” 

It sounded like a complaint more than anything, and the thought of getting up had Bucky agreeing with the tone. He compromised by hugging Steve tight and carrying him so they were almost still cuddling. 

~*~ 

“Barnes.” 

Bucky felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck at the tone in Stark’s voice. “I was just-” 

“Trying to come up with an excuse, yeah,” Stark nodded. “Don’t worry, I just need a minute.” 

“Is this about the mission, because the briefing-” 

Stark rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Barnes. I read your damn stories.” 

“Oh, uh…” Bucky’s face was on fire. “Look, I was writing them as a joke. So Wilson could do a dramatic reading, I don’t actually… you and Banner… uh.” 

“Okay, as fun as it is to watch you stumble all over yourself to explain that you’re as dedicated to Rogers as we all know you are, I was talking about the other stuff. The, uh… Look, my feelings quota has been met for the decade at this point, so the one you wrote where I forgive you. That’s, uh. It’s not necessary. You’re part of the team. If I blamed you, I wouldn’t have put you on the team, but since you clearly need to hear it out loud… I forgive you for being mind controlled into killing my parents against your will.” 

“Oh,” Bucky breathed. A weight he didn’t know he’d been carrying was suddenly gone and he smiled. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah, uh. Sure. And keep banging Rogers, it’s good for your morale.” 

“Stark!” Bucky exclaimed, horrified, but the man just kept walking. 

Bucky laughed quietly to himself. He’d never imagined home would involve so much teasing about his sex life. 

He wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

**Author's Note:**

> The Winter Soldier has a new job as one of the Avengers after helping the Black Widow and the Falcon stop Project Insight, but his therapist recommends he get a hobby, so he starts up a new type of hobby (author's choice), and posts some of his successes, or fan theories on Social Media, and he winds up making an online friend (Steve), and together the two encourage the other to improve. What happens next is up to the author.


End file.
